The Trials - Group Thread

However you learned of it, you were told to present yourself at the East Gate of the Grand Lodge in Absalom, at dawn of this day.

Some of you came from the opposite direction of the East gate; you circle the enclosed Lodge as the city begins to wake up. A high stone wall encloses the grounds, and within you see the telltale spire of Skyreach, the spire that all of Absalom rises to see every day. Others of you wound your way through the city, catching glimpses of the spire where buildings did not block your view.

The streets of the Foreign Quarter aren't exactly quiet, but neither are they bustling. As you complete the final stretch, you see a small crowd gathering. Apparently this is a minor event for the local people. There is a man hawking sweets, a woman with her children, various tradesmen that pause as they pass, and even a gaggle of toothless old beggars, cackling to each other.

You spot eight others pressing through the crowd and converging on the gate. A young man in gray robes stands in front of the open gate, his arms crossed. Already the crowd is getting excited, and the bustle of conversation begins to die down.

Take this opportunity to "introduce yourself" - appearance, manner, etc. Background on how you got to Absalom might be nice as well. I'm going to be busy this weekend, starting tomorrow, but on Monday we'll kick this off for real.

The quiet man approaches the gate sniffing at the air and observing his surroundings with a grim demeanor, peddlers steer away from him once they notice the man has a face that does not beckon friends or idle chit chat much less the will to donate a coin.

Brimstone carries the same robe as always blue with stylized red flames adorning it, the robe is clean but the smell of smoke is relevant and doesn't seem to bother the man, maybe he even likes it. He doesn't carry his usual red headband as he does not expect to be burning things today - at least not a lot of things.

Brim as always is a man of few words and just stands before the gate arms crossed waiting for the call of the man in grey robes as he is certain that he stands out and the man should know that he is here for the trials Trials... bah... just a waste of time. Brim does certainly NOT need any trial. The sooner I finish this the better.

Brimstone is not as eager as the others gathered and even seems to be displeased by all of this. Glancing around measuring the others Brim laughs internally ho ho... rabble... I do hope they are more capable than what they appear

Lars Sigurdson

What sights he had seen since his arrival at the docks aboard the 'Sea Spirit': people of every size and hue of skin, buildings of stone and wood that towered like mountains, and many other strange and wondrous things. Enough for a night of tales in the jarlshal back home, to be sure, tales the like of which no northman would believe. But they would surely pale beside the experiences promised to him if he was accepted into this society of Pathfinders, as the captain had told him. 'Explorers, treasure seekers, trailblazers, aye, and more than a rogue or two besides' the burly seaman had said with a hearty laugh as he made his way on shore.

And so it was at their training hall that he found himself on this morning. Surely it was a popular place, such were the crowds gathered around the building. As he made his way through a throng of locals, he mugged a fearsome growl to two small children, who cowered behind their mother's skirts, before breaking into a wide grin, and knelt to reassure them that despite his lion-like mane of blonde hair, and the animal fur he wore over his leather jack, he wasn't a demon from the frozen wastes come to steal their souls. Rising, he smiled at the woman and gently touched her arm, before moving on to see what delights the street hawkers offered, and exchanging banter with a couple of beggars, playing the country fool but not fool enough to part with any coin.

He had heard that a man didn't simply walk in and demand admittance to the Pathfinders; he had to prove his worth, and so it seemed that he was not alone in this desire. A number of others were standing around, looking pensive, checking equipment, chatting idly or keeping their own counsel. Clamping the skewer of charred meat he had bought for a brace of coppers in his teeth, he grasped the ash haft of his poleaxe in his left hand, shrugged his pack more securely onto his shoulder, and offered his right, wrist to wrist as true warriors do, to any of the others who would take it.

'Lars son of Sigurd' he mumbled, mouth full.

He worked his way through the small knot, taking the measure of the others as best he could until he reached a grim human in robes adorned with fiery designs.

The skewer dropped from his mouth, partially eaten, as he stopped in his tracks a good couple of paces from the man, right hand coming up smoothly to grip the halberd. The tip dipped a fraction; not enough to be threatening, but sufficient to indicate his readiness if required.

'Wizard' he said in a low voice, 'I can smell it on you. Know that if you try to use foul sorcery on these innocents I'll send you to whatever pit of hell you're destined for earlier than you'd like'.

He stepped back and away, putting himself between the robed figure and the crowd, blue eyes never leaving him.

Brim raises her left eyebrow and looks down at the burly man, his eyes flashing but contained any counters to the barbarian's threat as now the truly odd and ignorant fellow backed away amongst the crowds ho ho ho... and what is this... such an ignorant boy, not even a man yet a smile curling on Brim's stoic lips it is always fun to toy with savage people ...it is, entertaining

A jolly young man makes his way through the crowd, smiling and greeting everyone he passes. He occasionally twirls the forest green cloak he wears, showing the studded leather armor he wears, the large sword and bow strapped to his back. Gazing around at the city, a look of wonder and awe appears on his face, his solid silver eyes going wide. He buys a bag of sweets, exchanging words and, judging by the laughing by both men, a joke with the hawker.

Continuing his way through the crowd, eating a few of the sweets, Rogar smiles and offers the rest of the bag to a small group of children who'd been running throughout the square. Tousling the hair of the ringleader, he approaches the group of what he assumes are the other aspirants. Pausing a moment as the young warrior confronts the apparent mage, he steps in smoothly afterward and offers his hand to both men, a wide smile on his face. "Greetings! My name's Rogar, Rogar Moravec. Of Varisia. Cleric of Desna. A pleasure to meet you. I take it you're both here to apply to the Pathfinders as well? Exciting isn't it? I can't wait."

Brimstone turns slowly lifting his brow again but now at the overtly happy go lucky man, Brimstone keeps his posture and grim disposition and only spats slowly and evenly "Brimstone"

Bah... a sheep of gods, at least this one is from Varisia and not a savage from who knows where, I highly doubt this man takes pleasure in meeting me, but some people are strange like that I guess After Brim finishes gauging the man he slowly turns back to wait for some kind of announcement his patience getting thin with all this 'interaction'

Exciting?!... BAH!

Javek Wyrmhusk

The voyage into the city had been cumbersome on both Javek's body and mentality. Even as they departed from the company of the missionaries back at the outpost, his guilt for not returning home grew. Still, he had the company of the dwarf and the knowledge that he would be preparing for a test to occupy him. The dwarf became rather quiet the closer they got to Absalom and Javek assumed it had to do with his acceptance to take the Pathfinder challenge.

Coin was growing scarce, or so the dwarf worried, and they housed in a small inn that looked more ransacked than occupied. The halls were empty, as were most of the rooms, and Javek was able to ease his level of comfort to the great city. The rush of people was battled by the quiet nature of the decrepid inn and whenever the warrior felt overwhelmed he could simply sneak off into one of the vacant rooms.

The night was drawing to a close and the alcohol had dried up hours ago. Javek moved about the inn with the faculties of a stubborn mule, fighting his every move to not run to the docks and head back south. Finally he was prepared to set out and he was sorry to not find the dwarf anywhere, he would have to seek him out after the trials; hopefully as a fellow Pathfinder.

The streets were empty when the dark-skinned human started the morning, but since they had taken up rooms in what Javek could only imagine was the furthest possible place from the Spire, the sun was out and on display long before he approached the throngs of people just outside the gates. He propped the butt of his vicious looking spear into the ground at his feet and looked about. He could notice nothing beyond the stench of people. The people of his desert village held water at a high regard, but that did not stop them from batheing in regular intervals. These folk however, well- he shook the distracting thought from his mind.

He pushed forward, hesitant at first, until he had made it halfway through. His spearhead bobbed about to mark his progress and soon he found relieve as the remaining spectators took note and made way for him. He nodded his pleasure to those that paid him any attention - most didn't, beyond remarks about his exotic skin color - and eventually broke through.

Details of his black hide armor began to expose themselves as the sun broke over the gathering. Strips of different textures made a swirled design upon his chest and it was mirrored on the back as well. Sandals with straps ran up the length of his calf muscle. Upon his head was a golden wrap, most likely a combination of leather, hide, and cloth which kept his silky black hair away from his face. He stood apart from the others, but his foreign presence in the gathering marked him as a participant in the proceedings.

Hailing from Almas, having arrived at the Absalom Docks by way of Oppara, Erol Garreth stepped off the ship with what few belongings he had. With a quick glance around it became quite clear this place was in stark contrast to the stoic life he's accustomed to.

From the Verduran Forest to the World's Edge Mountains, while they jade a man to this type of work, they are poor excuses for preparation to this type of overwhelming socialization. Not since leaving the harbor in Oppara had Erol seen such an amount of people. The lengthy sea-fairing voyage aboard in cramped quarters seemed all that much more appealing in hindsight.

Cutting a path between Puddles and Coins Districts on his way to Foreign Quarter, Erol had not an interest to stop and sight see. The thought of failure at this endeavor wasting his resources and time preoccupied his mind. The true scope of Skyreach's presence grew the closer one got. It cast an imposing shadow down upon all around it but this only motivated him more where others may buckle under pressure. This spire was a symbol of a greater future now within reach.

Upon entering Foreign Quarter Erol sought out the nearest inn and remained in his room for the rest of the day. Much of his time was spent meditating on the upcoming trials or watching the citizens through a small window in the modest accommodations. He remained here until morning when the meeting was scheduled to be held.

Having scouted out the entrance to the Grand Lodge previously, Erol headed straight there after leaving the inn. He had no reservations about forcing his way through the ground to reach the front gate. Coming into view of the others, they could see that he is a man of average height with a slightly larger build because of his strength. A nonchalant sandy colored attire covered his body with a worn out hat covering his lazily slicked back black hair. A gruff beard made him appear almost unprofessional.

On Erol's back is a sack containing most of what he carries other than the variety of weapons hanging off his body. If nothing else they provide a good reason for others to move out of the way when he came barging through. Those who looked twice may also notice that he didn't wear a single bit of protection, making him look like a coward to some and a fool to the rest.

Stopping in the designated area, Erol looked over the other adventurers here to take part in the trials - presumably. Turning his head towards the man in gray robes he said, "Erol Garreth reporting for participation in the trials for entry into the Pathfinder Society." He then lurched back among the group waiting for entry.

"I trust all of you are the best Golarion has to offer, gathered from across the lands. It would be doubly shameful should you fail to make me feel like I had earned initiation into the Pathfinder Society. First, I'd have to question the legitimacy of the standards upheld by this organization. Second, I will not forgive you for turning this venture into a futile affair."

Erol couldn't help but display a faint smirk, tipping his hat in their direction.

"Only those without skill require luck in the face of adversity. So instead I pray in the name of the late Aroden that we've all brought more than that to the table already on this morning."

Rogar stared at the walking armory, taken aback by the man's words. After a moment he steps forward and offers the man his hand. "I'm sure we are all more than meets the eye. My name's Rogar Moravec, cleric of Desna. Erol, right? Sorry, I couldn't help but overhear you introduce yourself to our friend there." He smiles as he nods towards the grey-robed man. "But I'm afraid I have to disagree with you on one point: there's room for skill and luck. After all, luck is nothing but the favor of the gods. Who wouldn't want both?"

Brimstone breaks his stoic face by rolling his eyes Another one, is the 'society' filled with fools like these?... bah...

Brim sighs I do wonder if these 'travelers' do have in fact any skill or maybe they only like to make idle chatter... and pointless remarks, hohoho. None of them 'seem' to have any magical abilities or have any semblance of proper intellectual culture for that matter... pity Brim stretches his neck making audible cracking sounds Steady Brimstone they can wait for a proper cleansing by fire at another time

Turning his piercing gaze at the man in grey robes Brim bids his time.